


A Tale of Two Elflings

by irritating_spontaniety



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritating_spontaniety/pseuds/irritating_spontaniety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fic that explores the period of time before the events of The Hobbit to after the Lord of the Rings in which Legolas is Tauriel’s best friend and is by all ties but blood, her brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buds

Tauriel sat on the sandy shores of Valinor, looking out at the sea. The sky was clear, and the waters were blue-green and sparkling. A gentle, salty breeze played with the auburn tresses of her hair. She seemed to be waiting for something. Listening to the soothing push and pull of the waves, Tauriel sat alone with her thoughts.

 

No close kin came with her to the Undying Lands. They had all passed to the Halls or faded with the ages. Tauriel was very young when her parents died. Fallen in battle, they told her, slain by orcs. She was not yet a century old, but in her eyes Middle-earth had already lost some of its luster and she took solace in the stars. Looking back now, she thanks the Valar for her close friendship with the prince of Mirkwood, or _Eryn Galen_ as it was called back then--Greenwood the Great.

 

Yes, Legolas, son of the Elvenking of Greenwood, and what a strange wonder he was. Not much older than herself, he was playful, mischievous, prone to petulance, and she loved him dearly. He dragged her along to every lesson with his tutor, and drew his arms around her when a history lesson revealed the troubling origin of orcs, comforting her with murmurs of, "I am here." Out of love or pity Thranduil gave her a place at their table.

 

Legolas would teasingly claim to regret the day he invited her to train with him. In those days the forest was still peaceful and beautiful, and there was no urgency in studying combat. He had displayed his appalling skill with the blade, and she’d bitten her fist to stifle the laughter spilling from her lips, but a giggle escaped and he narrowed his eyes.

 

“Why don’t you try?” He challenged. So she did. The wilting look on his face was almost worth his undisguised laughter when she later revealed her own incompetence with the bow.

 

“The tree, I said!” Legolas howled with mirth, “But what you've managed is a great feat indeed!”

 

Her arrow had somehow flew far from its intended target, a young oak at the edge of the clearing, hit and ricocheted off a rock, breaking upon impact. She reminded him of his performance with the knife and he sobered up quickly.

 

“Here,” he took her arms by the elbows, “Shoulders up more and widen your stance.”

 

And thus they became teachers to one another, one in knife work, the other in archery, and quickly became masters of both crafts. Of course, Legolas could pluck an apple by severing its stem with an arrow’s point whereas Tauriel could parry his blade more often than not. Nevertheless they were skilled warriors both, which was well because on a hill a fortress was being built. An age-old darkness had begun to fall upon the Greenwood and all manner of evil creatures were stirring in its shadows.

 

The forest was not yet called Mirkwood when Legolas took on the role of overseer of preparations for the Midsummer’s feast. Casks of Dorwinion wine were imported from Dale into the elven kingdom, and bands of musicians, per request of the king, were assembled for the night’s celebrations. On the twilight of Midsummer’s eve the air was warm and rife with song and laughter. Spirits were high, and the elves were rowdy from consumption of a different kind of spirits. Standing out in contrast to the dancing wood-elves was the contemplative form of their golden-haired prince, proudly surveying his handiwork. He startled when someone touched his shoulder. Turning around he saw Tauriel, smiling at him and holding up something rolled in green velvet.

 

“What is it?” He asked, running his fingertips along the cloth.

 

“A gift for the mastermind behind this great celebration,” she said.

 

Legolas took the bundle and unwrapped it. Nestled in the green velvet was a set of dual knives, long, curved, and ivory-white.

 

“Where did you get these?” He whispered in wonder, lifting one of the knives so that the blade flashed as it caught the last light of the setting sun.

 

She shrugged, “I made them.”

 

“You made-” He looked at her in surprise, then laughed, “Tauriel, stay calm, but I fear you’ve become a dwarf!”

 

She kicked him in the shin, almost causing him to drop the knife. “A dwarf! Well, if I am a dwarf as you say, I trust you find no fault in the craftsmanship?”

 

“Of course. Dwarf or not, how could I protest, for truly this is beautiful work!” He grinned at her. “Thank you.”

 

“It was no trouble.”

 

Legolas studied the swirling engravings on the blade a moment more before looking up. “Why aren’t you dancing with the others?”

 

“I’m afraid your father’s music isn’t to my tastes.”

 

He seemed to think for a few seconds, then rolled the knives up again in green. “Come. Too many here are inebriated beyond reason. I would much prefer your company.”

 

So they stole out into the night, taking with them a half-empty cask of wine for their little party of two. Up the highest tree they climbed until they could look down and see nothing but a sea of leaves that was the forest’s canopy. The sky was dark and the first stars were awake and peeking out from behind clouds. The moon hung in the sky, shining huge and bright, beautiful to mortal eyes and even more so to those of an elf. It was basked in this silvery glow that the two drank straight from the barrel; Legolas hummed a merry tune, and Tauriel sang a hymn to Elbereth. As she reached the last lines, Tauriel felt Legolas droop at her side and she caught him before he fell from the branch they were seated on.

 

“Legolas, wake up,” she said shaking him lightly.

 

“Hm? Tauriel?” His syllables were slurred.

 

She smiled, “I am here. Open your eyes.”

 

"For what reason," He murmured into her shoulder, "I'm tired..."

 

Tauriel laughed softly, “not tired, Legolas, drunk. It seems you have not inherited your father’s tolerance for fine wines.”

 

He muttered something unintelligible and drifted into unconsciousness.

 

“Sleep well, _muindor-nin_ ,” she whispered, and with a heavy sigh she slung his arm around her shoulders and heaved them both to a standing position, balancing precariously on the high branch.

 

Somehow she managed to get them to the forest floor (the empty cask left abandoned in the tree) and back to the hills where remnants of the feast were left to be cleaned in the morning. Thranduil was waiting for their return. He had worried upon noting his son’s absence but after noticing that Tauriel was gone as well he conceded that they’d left together and were up to some mischief that he could not stop. Seeing Tauriel half dragging Legolas he silently cursed himself for being right, and went to help bring his troublesome son to his chambers. Asleep, Legolas would never know that he’d been held up by his father and the one who called him brother, and that they’d exchanged playfully exasperated comments about him over his head. Though had he been awake Legolas would have kept his eyes shut and limbs limp and smiled at the sound of his family chiding him for being an empty-headed elfling who was more trouble than he was worth.

 

****

 

Tauriel gazed with wonder at the golden sands of the beach, the clusters of flowers that dotted the shores, and the trees that grew tall and green along it. No matter how long she’d resided in Aman, she would always find it beautiful. She had seen great woodlands deteriorate before her eyes, and was glad that she would never have to again. Those were difficult times and Tauriel remembered them with bitter clarity.

 

Legolas’ Midsummer’s feast had marked the end of a bright and careless era. The years passed and darkness pressed in. The forest, now known as Mirkwood, teemed with spiders and orcs and other creatures of the sort. Greenery decayed and was replaced by fungi. Weeds and vines snaked up from a floor of rotting leaves to strangle saplings and tangle in cobwebs. The wood-elves, who once dwelt in flets with only the forest’s natural foliage as shelter, had retreated from the hills of _Emyn Duir_ to the caverns of the Elvenking’s halls where they prayed its great stone doors would keep them safe. The enchantments were taxing on the Elvenking and he was not fain to leave his kingdom. Still, hope could be found in the silver droplets that adorned the night sky. His people took to feasting under the starlight to stave off worry and fear. But in the light of day that didn't quite breach the darkness of Mirkwood it could not be denied that the problem was getting worse. Warriors were sent out in droves and killed in droves. The king saw it necessary to assemble a skilled, elite guard whose sole duty was to patrol the borders and drive away the monsters that lived there.

 

It was then that Legolas came to his father with a request- make Tauriel captain of the guard. The king was reluctant at first. Though he’d seen that she was capable, Tauriel was still young and inexperienced. There were more seasoned warriors who might better fill the position, or so he’d thought at the time. But Legolas had insisted so fervently that Thranduil eventually yielding. It was fortunate that he did because the elves of the wood were never as efficient as they were under her leadership.

 

The woodland prince had waited for the new captain after her audience with the king where she would receive her station, but Tauriel was nowhere to be found. At least not to those who didn't know where to look. Legolas found her fletching arrows in their tree. She didn't look up from her work when he sat beside her, but she knew he was there. Night fell and she looked to the sky and Legolas saw in her eyes a determination fierce as wildfire. With that fire still in her gaze she turned to him.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I know.”

 

And there they stayed till first light broke over the Lonely Mountain, setting the Long Lake ablaze with orange light.

 

It would be a long time before they sat up there again.

  
Life wore on and shadows grew longer and darker. There were whispers in the air, rumors of sorcery and undead kings that filled the place with fear. And with fear came death, and with death, regret.

 

****

 

The sun was high and hot upon the sand. Tauriel stood and walked up the beach to where a pair of twin oaks made a welcome shade. From the folds of her tunic she withdrew a roll of parchment. The paper was yellowed and worn around the edges, and she unrolled it with care:

 

“To my dear captain,

 

You will be pleased to hear that I have arrived in Imladris without trouble. Lord Elrond has a strange gathering of guests- halflings, dwarves, men, even Mithrandir is here. Though my journey was swift and undisturbed, it seems theirs was not. I heard they ran into wraiths atop Amon Sûl, and one of the halflings was injured. It’s a wonder he is still alive! As we well know, wounds inflicted by morgul blades are not easily recovered from. Though Lord Elrond’s skills as a healer are said to be unparalleled, so I supposed it’s not too unexpected. How I wish we had someone of his ability in Mirkwood, the Valar know how much we need it.

 

I hate to dredge up bad memories, but I have recalled them and now feel the need to apologize. Do you remember back when I was younger and thoughtless (I can hear you saying, “you still are,” and I ask you to stop, you look rather foolish talking to a scrap of paper) and while you and your guard patrolled the borders day in day out, I would only sometimes join when, ah, shirking certain princely duties.

 

Believe me when I say I still rue that day I stayed in the halls. Why did I do it? I have never been certain. Some fit of flightiness had struck, causing me to believe I should remain in the caverns. The sound of horns alerted me of the guards return, and I went out to greet them, as I often did, only to be met with the sight of you, blood-stained, hair disheveled, supporting an equally tattered elf whom I recognized as one of your guard. “What happened?” I gasped. “Orcs,” you replied bitterly, “and wargs.” There were too many, apparently, and you had been caught off guard. I saw that the rest of the patrol were supporting their injured fellows, many in dire conditions. I tried to make out the words, “we must get them to the healers,” but you’d already pushed past me into the caverns.

 

I’m glad you did not see me then, frozen at the gates, staring after the backs of the crippled guard as they staggered into my father’s halls, leaving behind them a trail of red. It was selfish, I now admit, that I did not visit the halls of healing, did not see to the soldiers, or you. At the time, I could only think of my inaction at the gates, and though I knew my presence would have made little difference, I thought maybe, if I had been there…if I’d joined the patrol… Sometimes these thoughts still come to me. Angered at my own helplessness, I ran into the wilderness and buried my blades in whatever I could find; a fallen tree, a gnarled root, a boulder- or at least I tried. Metal rebounded off stone, and I lost my grip. The knife nearly struck me in the face (don't laugh).

 

It’s a good thing you came to reprimand me, and not only about my treatment of your gifts, though I assure you they are still quite sharp. I remember you had not changed clothes, still in a blood-stained tunic, though fortunately the blood was not yours. The sight of it made me wince. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I should have been out there with you. I don’t know what came over me I just-” That’s when you interrupted. “Legolas, you’re very selfish,” you said without preamble. Rude. I was taken aback. “Selfish!?” I said, “if you’re referring to my failure to join your patrol today, listen, because I’m trying to apologize!” Then guess what you said next. Child, you called me; I was acting like a child. Well! I must protest because I am older than you, if only by a decade or two, but that doesn't really matter. Your following words shook me: “The enemy grows stronger everyday, do you really think this is the time for self pity? You are so caught up in what you've failed to do, what you wish you could have done, that you have not spared a thought for what you should do now, and what you can do in the future! And not just for me, but for those who lie in your father’s halls. Surely you have noticed. The shadow did more than just bring foul creatures to our lands, it has infected the very life of what grows here. What was once green is now in decay.” You closed your eyes briefly. “Legolas, athelas is scarce in Mirkwood.”

 

Again, I was angry with myself, though for different reasons now, but I was also afraid. I heard your words and what they implied and wanted to scream. Instead I took a deep breath and asked, “is that why you’re out here?” It was. “Then this time I’ll help.” We were quiet as we set off toward the Forest River. I had hoped you knew I was sorry then, but if not, I say it now. Truly, Tauriel, I am sorry. For then, for being stupid and shallow, and for now, for failing to recapture Gollum though many of your guard were sacrificed in the attempt.

 

Ah, it seems I must go. Lord Elrond has invited me to attend a council. A feeling of foreboding has crept upon me, and I feel as though something of some significance is about to happen. This may be my last letter to you before I come home, but fear not, I will return soon. Until then, try not to miss me too much and keep Adar away from the wine.

 

With love,

 

Legolas”

 

 


	2. Green Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It simply isn’t an adventure worth telling if there aren’t any dragons.”  
> -J.R.R. Tolkien

Rolling up the letter, Tauriel smiled to herself. She remembered the incident and what she said to Legolas, and oh how much he’d grown since then. Even before becoming one of the nine walkers it was clear he had taken her words to heart, though in comparison to the Legolas after the War of the Ring he had still been green and unworldly. Still, he tried to do what he could for his people and his home.

 

Mirkwood was under the oppression of the Necromancer for over a millennium before it saw light again. It seemed to be an unfortunate law of the world that misfortune breeds more misfortune. However, this time it wasn’t Mirkwood who fell victim. From the north came an inferno--a dragon by the name of Smaug. Drawn by the riches of Erebor and spurred by its own greed the creature rained fire and terror on that great kingdom of dwarves, taking for itself a mighty plunder. In the face of such destructive power what could dwarves and the men of Dale do but flee? But those were the troubles of folk beyond the Elvenking’s lands so naught was done about them. Not when orcs were coming from the south, not when swarms of Shelob’s spawn were nesting in the forest. Not when their own elvish population was so diminished.

 

The threat of dragon lay dormant in Erebor for over a century. During that time the elves of Mirkwood continued to fight their foes, now always with their prince in their midsts. It was during one of these confrontations that they came upon a company of thirteen dwarves. It was a strange and unwelcome intrusion, and Legolas did not take kindly to it, and even less so did his father. Tramping through the forest in the direction of the Lonely Mountain, there was little question as to where the dwarves were headed and what for. They wanted to reclaim their gold, and in the process, awaken the dragon! It was a fool’s endeavor. The land northeast Mirkwood had suffered enough, so the Elvenking chose to bar their passage.

 

Tauriel looked upon their prisoners with cautious curiosity. The furthest she’d ever gone from Mirkwood was to the mouth of the River Running, and that was before the arrival of the Necromancer. Now there was no such luxury. She’d only rarely met men then, and never ever a dwarf, but she’d heard that they were stunted, greedy, and obsessed with treasure. No doubt it was talk born from ages of strife. Still, Tauriel was surprised to find that one was quite tall, for a dwarf at least. He spoke to her of promises and moonlight, and looked at her with stars in his eyes. Reckless, he called himself, and it was recklessness that brought a morgul shaft to his knee when he and his friends escaped down the river, but it was not mere recklessness that sent Tauriel chasing after them.

 

Whatever orders of isolationism the lord of Mirkwood gave, Tauriel neither heard nor heeded them. She only heard that a dwarf was dying from an orc-inflicted wound, and a greater evil was fast approaching. She could not stay idle. The thought of asking Legolas along crossed her mind, but no, the woodland prince followed his father’s laws too strictly. Since the incident with the orcs, Legolas had been taking his duties as prince and protector of the realm very seriously. But, Tauriel mused, it had always been their habit to find each other when one went missing. If I go alone, she thought, he will follow. I’m sure of it.

 

She wasn’t wrong. Legolas came, though it took some persuading for him to go with her to Laketown. He wanted to return to the Elvenking’s halls- stay shut up in the caverns till trouble blew over. But no, how could they? They were a part of this world! No matter how much the king tried to seclude them from outside danger, it was still there, festering in every nook, cranny, and shadowed place on Middle Earth, and it would spread, darkening lands that were meant to lie in light. Soon, it would be their problem whether they wanted it to be or not.

 

“Tell me, _muindor-nin_ ,” Tauriel said, trying to make him understand, “when did we let evil become stronger than us?”

 

They arrived in Laketown as the sun was setting- just in time to save the townspeople from some orcs, and heal a dwarf in dire need of kingsfoil. There was quite some damage done to the small houses upon the lake- roofs torn, furniture smashed; but it was nothing compared to what was to come.

 

From outside the bargeman’s house, the captain of the guard heard an elvish cry.

 

“ _Amlug!_ Dragon!”

 

Tauriel hurried outside to see Legolas pointing in the direction of the mountain. In the distance, a flicker of orange light lit up the rocky hillside.

 

Fire! Smaug!

 

Dread settled in her stomach like lead. For the first time, she thought it wise that the Elvenking hid in his halls. This was no orc that could be defeated by a couple hard blows, this was no spider she could chase down and stick her blades in- this was a dragon! A fire-drake, kin to what were once Sauron’s deadliest allies. She’d heard tales of the beast. It was armored with scales tougher than steel, it had wings that stirred hurricanes, and breath hotter than a dwarven forge. Fear threatened to overwhelm her.

 

“Tauriel!” Legolas’ shout broke through her fearful thoughts. “The dragon is nearing. We must evacuate the townspeople!” His voice sounded firm, almost calm, but she saw panic in his eyes.

 

Donning her captain’s persona she quickly returned to the house, calling the dwarves and the bargeman’s children into action. “Quickly, the dragon approaches, you must go!” She saw them scramble to their feet. “Take a boat, leave the lake, and warn the others!”

 

She didn’t stay to see if they heeded her words, and dashed through Laketown, warning the inhabitants of the impending desolation. She saw Legolas leaping from rooftops doing the same. The townspeople were quickly stirred up in a frenzy as cries of "dragon!" and "flee!" filled the air. Parents loaded their children aboard small boats before getting in themselves, rowing rapidly towards the shore. But despite their efforts, Smaug flew too fast across a lake that was simply not long enough to stall it. Huge wings descended upon Laketown casting large, ominous shadows. Tauriel heard people scream. A flap of the dragon's wings sent loose shingles shuddering. Then, as everyone stared in awe and terror, the dragon's belly glowed like a forge, and it opened its mouth to spit scorching flames down upon the helpless lake-people. If Tauriel thought she knew fear before it was nothing compared to what she experienced then. People dove into the lake's dark waters to escape the deadly heat of dragon flame. Others were not so lucky.

 

Some say the young are reckless because they think themselves invincible. Tauriel was young, yes, and reckless, but in that moment she felt like a child and far from invincible.

 

"Fire!!" She heard someone shout.

 

A hysterical thought crossed her mind that it was a pointless warning since it was rather difficult to have not noticed half the town was on fire. Instead a volley of arrows went flying at the dragon. When the next shout came she notched an arrow and joined them.

 

But all the arrows did was bounce harmlessly off the dragons armor and enrage the beast further. Tauriel heard a bell ring somewhere beyond dragons roars and screams. Is that a death knell? she thought, it must be. In the heat of the moment all she could think about was finding Legolas. _Where is he? Where is he?_

 

The bells rant again. _Dong dong._

 

_Where is he?_

_Dong dong dong._

 

She inexplicably looked toward the source of the noise. Atop what looked like a church wreathed in flame was a dark haired man sounding the bell tower with all his strength. It was Bard, Tauriel recognized, the bargeman who delivered their wine barrels down the river.

 

"Smaug!" He bellowed.

 

Smaug picked out his name through the din and turned toward the church tower.

 

"Oy! Over here you great stinkin worm!"

 

The dragon growled at the insult and flew at him. Its belly lit again with an orange glow and sparks flew from its nostrils. Its great maw opened halfway and Tauriel could see the fire burning in the back of its throat.

 

She heard the sound before she saw it. A loud twang from where Bard was perched, then a whistling through the air, and a deafening roar that sounded oddly like a howl. The dragon reeled back in the air in what seemed like shock. Then she noticed it- the thick black arrow buried in a small patch of scale-less hide. Smaug let out another howl, this time sounding more like a whine. Its wings flapped but lacked the strength it had just moments ago, and quickly lost altitude. The dragon fell in a flurry of embers heavily on top of several houses, smashing through and landing in the Long Lake with an enormous splash. The ripples sent small boats tumbling to shore.

 

Everybody stared at the unmoving form of Smaug as it lay smoking in the ruins of Laketown. It was quiet save the sizzling as lake water extinguished the glow of the dragon’s belly.

 

Fire danced in the smoldering town. Sparks leapt. It was as if the flames were rejoicing in their master's demise. However, it was nothing compared to the people of Laketown--they were ecstatic.

 

"Bard! Bard the bowman!" They cried.

 

“Help me!” He shouted back. The flames around him had grown higher.

 

There was a flash of silver-blond as Legolas darted through the fire and half pushed, half carried Bard from the bell tower. They fell inelegantly in the lake, and when they resurfaced the people cheered again. Tauriel looked at Legolas, bobbing in the lake and spitting water with his long hair plastered to his face, and smiled in relief. The worst was over, she thought.

  
The worst was yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got around to writing this. I didn't edit it so forgive any spelling/grammatical errors and run on sentences.  
> I might do minor edits in the future, but for now, enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in the middle of the night. Please forgive any typos.
> 
> muindor-nin: my brother


End file.
